


The Devil in the Mirror

by Artemis1000



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chamber play style, Emotional Manipulation, Interrogation, M/M, Mind Games, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2017, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: Captain Andor was to interrogate Director Krennic after his capture on Scarif. It should have been straightforward enough. It's too bad life never went according to plan. Cassian still had a lot to learn about the price you paid for victory.





	The Devil in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



“This is a joke, right?”

Cassian’s eyes were fixed on General Draven, hard and unforgiving, his lips pressed together into a thin, pale line of disapproval. General Draven wasn’t a joking man but he kept waiting for the punchline anyway.

The General didn’t even bother to look at him, he didn’t look up at all from the reports he was studying. “I believe I made myself clear, Andor.”

He opened his mouth. Thought of simply refusing. He could refuse, he was sure he could, not even Draven would court-martial him for deeming himself compromised.

Before a word of protest could leave his mouth, his conviction began to falter.

He could refuse, but it would ruin what fragile trust was left after he had refused to follow the General’s orders regarding Galen Erso, and then just plain disappointed him with the recklessness of the Scarif stunt. The latter which also happened to get Draven’s best and brightest killed. Massassi Group’s Intelligence would need years to recover from the loss of their best spies, saboteurs, and assassins.

In the grand scheme of things, Cassian’s fragile and just regained peace of mind was a very small price to pay.

He clicked his heels with all the poise that would have befit one of his Imperial Security Bureau counterparts, the only tiny act of rebellion – and sheer spite – he permitted himself. In his heavy boots, it was utterly unsatisfying; there wasn’t even a clicking noise, just a dull thud.

Cassian could have sworn the noise Draven made was an aborted chuckle.

 

Director Orson Krennic struck him as the kind of man who wore boots that clicked perfectly.

It was downright unfortunate the good Director was currently neither sporting his good boots nor any other part of his resplendent white uniform.

In the plain, tan clothes he had been given after his release from the infirmary he looked remarkably unremarkable, but oddly enough, also younger.

His cell was small but serviceable, a cot bolted to the floor, a bed with the standard mattress issued to medium-sized humanoids, no linens so he couldn’t strangle himself before he was executed.

Cassian could spontaneously think of seven different ways to kill himself with the items that had been provided, but creative thinking had never been an Imperial strength.

“Do you speak or are you just here to look pretty?”

He blinked. He hadn’t expected Krennic to break the silence. “Good evening, Director. I hope the accommodations are to your liking.”

Krennic was sitting on the edge of the cot and regarding Cassian with the air of a man receiving a servant or at best a humble messenger. He scoffed. “What is this? Are you next going to ask to fluff my pillow?”

Cassian folded his hands behind his back. Military posture. Imperial military posture. Cassian was _good_ at impersonating Imperials, Krennic had suffered the consequences of that on Scarif. He noted the tightening in the corners of Krennic’s eyes with great satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. That would be disrespectful, seeing as how you were not allotted a pillow.”

This time, it looked for one hopeful, exhilarating moment like Krennic’s control would snap and he would throw himself at Cassian in a mindless attack. If he attacked Cassian he could be put back into cuffs, maybe even tranquilized until interrogations began to prevent the volatile prisoner from harming himself. The Rebellion believed very strongly in treating their prisoners in accordance with their values and this was a regulation Cassian would be all too happy to follow.

The man caught himself right in front of his eyes. Cassian didn’t let his disappointment show, but he could read in Krennic’s eyes that he knew the game they were now playing. He recalled what Jyn had told him about her father’s long imprisonment and wondered if this was a game Krennic had liked to play himself when he stood in Cassian’s place. The thought sent cold shivers down his spine, he decided then and there it would have to be one of the questions he never dared ask himself.

“I don’t believe we were properly introduced the last time we met,” Cassian said, his voice smooth and professional once more. “My name is Cassian Jeron Andor, Captain in Intelligence, Operations department of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.”

“Captain? Is that all I warrant, a Captain?”

His lips thinned. “I’m afraid so, sir, but if it’s any consolation to you, I’m about to be promoted for my contribution to the Death Star’s destruction.”

The man growled, his face twisted into rage.

Once again, Cassian braced himself for a physical attack. Once again, it didn’t come.

“I’m to begin with your questioning tomorrow. I suggest you get some sleep now. It’s going to be a long day.”

He gave the man a nod and turned smartly on his heel, not giving up the perfect Imperial posture until the door had closed behind him.

He held on to his own regular rebel posture right until he reached the sanctity of his own quarters. It was only there that Cassian permitted himself to squeeze his eyes shut against the pictures of Scarif, of Jedha, of all the demons meeting Krennic had stirred back to life.

Tomorrow would be a long day for both of them.

 

Orson Krennic was brought into the interrogation room by three armed guards.

Cassian awaited him, a datapad, two flexis and two paper cups of water on the table.

Krennic’s ankles were shackled to the legs of his bolted-down chair, but Cassian dismissed the guards before they could shackle his wrists to the armrests. He did not order them to remove the cuffs.

“As you can see, our interrogations are far more hospitable than yours. You will be provided with appropriate food and breaks to use the bathroom. You will not be interrogated past the point of what is medically conscionable.”

Krennic looked bored. “Are you next going to read my rights to me?”

He let a moment pass, before adding mildly, “what is _appropriate_ is for me to decide, and dependent on your cooperation.” Cassian leaned forward, steeling himself just for a moment before he met Krennic’s eyes. He was relieved to see only hate in them.

He pressed the recording button on the datapad. “Shall we begin, Director?”

 

Much as Cassian had expected, it didn’t take long for Krennic to grow bored of playing bored.

It started with small barbs, questions about the well-being of his comrades from Scarif, and when he didn’t show vulnerability it turned quickly to inquiries about Cassian’s own well-being after Scarif.

“I see you are fully recovered, Captain, I’m ever so glad the fall didn’t leave lasting damage.”

Cassian resisted the urge to take the bait, to shout at the man that he hadn’t fallen, he had been shot down by him. “Thank you for your concern,” he said.

Krennic looked angry. He hardly even stopped looking furious anymore.

Cassian was winning. But it was only the first hour of the first day and there were untold opportunities to fail.

“Permit me to return your attention to item 2.1, the research facility on Ea’du.”

 

Cassian was not, as such, an interrogator. He’d had the basic training in it and undergone some advanced training because he enjoyed the opportunity to learn and the skills taught were useful in his own line of work, but it wasn’t his primary function in intelligence, not even his secondary one.

He knew Draven hadn’t chosen him because he was the best at the job – he had been chosen because he was the only one suited to this particular job. He had witnessed the evils of the Death Star firsthand and wouldn’t let himself be lulled in by Krennic’s lies or civilized mannerism, but neither was he personally affected like his Jedhan or Alderaanian comrades.

More than that, Cassian was known for following orders even when he violently disliked them – his straying during Operation Fracture aside, his mission record was flawless. Krennic’s information was too valuable to permit him to goad an interrogator into killing him before they had gotten everything they needed from him. He would never be returned to the Empire, not even if they captured Mon Mothma herself, but he had to be given the illusion that he could lead them on long enough to be rescued or traded.

In truth, he had already been tried in absence and found guilty. There was a signed and verified execution order just waiting to be carried out.

Yet Cassian, more than most, could be trusted to understand the value of dying in the right manner at the right time.

“I understand your difficult position, Director,” Cassian said on day two as he leaned against the table with his right hip, looking down at him calmly while he sipped on his glass of water. “You’re walking a fine razorblade between being so uncooperative as that there is no point for us to keep you alive, and giving us so much that there isn’t enough left to give that we need to keep you alive.”

“And you have been trained in making me slip?” Krennic asked, some of his disdain shining through; Cassian assumed it was his normal disdain for everyone. His disdain for Cassian in particular tended to cut deeper.

He shook his head and said, “No, I have been trained in surviving such interrogations.” His lips quirked bitterly. “Or in my case, rather, to stave off interrogation methods I wouldn’t be able to resist until such a time I can kill myself. Rescue or escape are not part of my standard mission parameters upon capture.”

“I’m not planning to die in your miserable prison base, _boy_ ,” Krennic snapped.

Cassian thought for a moment and decided he did not envy his naïve hubris, he pitied him for it. Imperials. For the most part, they really didn’t understand their own horrors very well, and the ones who understood them knew them far too well for anyone’s comfort.

“There are worse deaths than by Lullaby pill, Director.”

Krennic must have caught on, for he remained silent.

Cassian picked up his datapad and gave it a cursory glance more for appearance’s sake than anything else. “Now, shall we resume?”

 

On day five, Krennic’s digs started to become personal. Cassian couldn’t help being impressed by his self-control, he wouldn’t have expected him to last three.

“I must admit, I was impressed on Scarif. Most people would have tried to bargain with me, but you never tried to get me to spare you. You just let me shoot you. _She_ didn’t try to barter for your life, either.”

Cassian kept his face blank. He could of course completely ignore Krennic’s small talk and the thinly disguised jabs, but keeping strictly to the script hadn’t gotten him anywhere so far. This interrogation went best when he kept Krennic talking. The more he talked the higher the chance he would let more slip than he intended.

“You underestimate the dedication of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Or maybe it’s an Erso trait. Her father did think his daughter would be better off dead than in my care.” He smiled sharply. “You should be careful with such friends, Andor.”

He gritted his teeth. “And you should be careful that I don’t take better aim the next time, but right now neither of us is going to get what we want.”

Krennic’s smile widened like a shark that had tasted water. “Is that it, Captain?” he asked eagerly, leaning forward as far as his shackles permitted. Today, his wrists had been cuffed to the armrests. “Do you want to see me dead?” His blue eyes gleamed, they looked more alive than Cassian had seen them yet. “No.” He lowered the pitch of his voice to something intimate and close to a purr. “You don’t want to see me dead. You want to _kill_ me.”

He let silence take hold between them, just long enough for the words to sink in like cold heavy stones, not long enough for Cassian to muster a defense.

“ _You_ want to be the one who makes me pay for all the dead on Jedha, for the comrades you murdered on Scarif, for all the failures you know to be yours. And deep, deep down you know it’s your fault, don’t you? But maybe if you kill me you can convince yourself it hasn’t been you who murdered them.”

Cassian reared back, he gasped for air as if the punches had been visible. He knew how to handle such blows, he had been trained to withstand them, but right here and now he hadn’t been braced for them.

He had, he realized too late, let Krennic’s compliance lull him into a false sense of security. All the while the man had picked at Cassian’s wounds just as much as he had picked at his.

“Stop!” he demanded.

Krennic leaned back, he was still smiling. Not like a predator who had smelled blood, but the satisfied smile of one who had his prey already injured and cornered and wanted to take his time watching it writhe. “Do you fantasize often about me, Captain Andor?”

Cassian leaped up from his chair and stalked out of the room, barking to the guards standing outside, “take him back to his cell!”

 

“With all due respect, _sir_ , but I’m not doing this anymore!”

General Draven turned his gaze away from the terminal he was studying, looking pointedly bored by Cassian’s outburst. “That’s nice, Andor. Now, I believe you have an interrogation scheduled.”

“I’m not…” He gritted his teeth and swallowed down all the profanities he wanted to fling at his commanding officer. It would ruin his career for sure, no getting-the-plans-for-the Death Star fame would be able to save him from the consequences.

Chances were, that was exactly what Krennic wanted.

Cassian forced his rage down, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket to hide that they still trembled with the helpless fury he felt.

“My apologies for my outburst,” he forced out, “the prisoner is more taxing than I had expected. It won’t happen again.”

Draven shot him an arch look. “See that it doesn’t.”

Cassian returned to his quarters and fantasized about Krennic’s death.

 

He contemplated the platform on Scarif, even undercover missions which could have so easily permitted their paths to cross, yet Cassian’s favorite scenario was right here on base, in the interrogation chamber.

It would be so easy. He was allowed to carry his blaster during interrogations. Nobody would mourn the father of the planet killer.

He wondered if Krennic would still look triumphant when he realized Cassian would kill him.

With a sinking feeling, Cassian realized the answer was _yes_.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” he said as per greeting as he walked into the interrogation room the next day.

Director Krennic still looked composed.

Cassian recalled Scarif, their confrontation at the top of the tower where Cassian had shot him. He reminded himself that he hadn’t been composed then. More than that, he’d read his psychological profiles. Proud and prone to outbursts of fury, all assessments agreed. By all means, it should be him, not Cassian, who stewed in helpless anger.

It was funny how reality never adhered to your best predictions.

Cassian sat down across from him. If the odds weren’t in your favor, you had to change the rules of the game.

“You want me to kill you.” He gritted his teeth. The words left him sickened. “One last victory. I’m not one of your _projects_ , Director.” His lips twisted into something that couldn’t be called a smile by any means. “I nearly killed you on Eadu. I had you in my sights. But all I knew was that you were some kind of project director, and Galen Erso took precedence.”

Oh. There it was. Cassian’s smile turned into a real thing. The humiliated fury was showing through the cracks in Krennic’s mask – an aristocratic mask which didn’t suit him well at all, for all that he played the Imperials’ games rather skillfully.

Cassian thrilled in the man’s snarl, in the way he strained against the cuffs that bound him to the arms and legs of his chair. If he had been free he would no doubt have thrown himself at Cassian, hell-bent on tearing out his throat with his bare hands. Cassian felt strangely disappointed that the chains held, however lovely the sight of his impotent fury might have been.

“You’re going to die,” he snarled.

He would no doubt have had more to say, had Cassian not cut in with a pointed, “But not at your hands.”

“You’ll _die_ ,” Krennic hissed, “they’ll hunt you down like rabid dogs.”

“I’ve always known my death would be violent,” Cassian said quietly, “I have long since accepted it.” He didn’t know why he was even sharing this, it was too close, too much, too personal. But Krennic’s fury felt strangely intimate to him. Maybe there was a subconscious desire in him to reach out and meet it in kind. Or maybe he was just tired and making bad judgment calls. “Have you accepted yours?”

His face was still flushed, his breathing coming in gasps between the curses he spat at Cassian. He let them wash over him like caresses as he circled around the table, leaning back against it right next to Krennic. They were close now, he had to tilt his head back to keep slinging his insults into Cassian’s face.

He leaned down, hands on the armrests, but careful not to touch his prisoner.

They were close enough to kiss now and Krennic still looked furious enough Cassian wouldn’t put it past him to spit at him, or even bite.

“Have you accepted your violent death, Director Krennic?” he repeated, his voice as soft and gentle as could be. _You can trust me_ , his voice said, _I’m your friend_.

The man snarled again.

Cassian retreated to the far wall. He leaned against it, arms crossed. He forced his own heartbeat to calm with the techniques you learned as a sniper and reminded himself he had no reason to be anything but calm. Krennic would not win.

“When you are done with your temper tantrum, I believe we were discussing item 5.6.”

Cassian still felt the force of Krennic’s fury crackle over his skin.

 

It was day twelve

No single interrogator should work this long with a captive. It wasn’t a rule written down in Rebel Alliance handbooks, but one of common sense.

Cassian knew these unspoken rules. He agreed with them. He was breaking this one anyway.

At night, he heard Krennic mock everything he stood for. When he spent time with his comrades, he heard him belittle all he held dear, heard him sow seeds of doubt.

 _One day they’ll see you for what you are, Andor_ he liked to say, and lately, he had taken to calling him _Cassian_ in some strangely intimate mix of pity and affection.

He couldn’t permit himself to be bothered by it.

He was getting to Krennic, too, and that was the only thing that mattered.

“You and I, we are alike, Cassian,” Krennic said, “we go to the same lengths to reach our goals.”

In the early days, Cassian had stiffened with indignation, chest swelling with righteous fury and a diatribe of Imperial atrocities which he delighted to fling in Krennic’s face. He knew better now. Krennic didn’t care – and in a way, neither did he. This battle had long since ceased being about the Empire and the Rebel Alliance. The stakes were far more personal now.

“If I went to the same lengths you go to, you wouldn’t be unharmed, your mind unbroken.”

Krennic rolled his eyes. “I’m not Vader. Blubbering broken fools are no use to me. There are better ways to control people.”

“Is that what you would do?” Cassian had taken to lingering close, having the width of the table between them seemed far too impersonal for the turn their conversations had taken these days. He leaned closer now, one hand on the back of Krennic’s chair. “You would try to turn me into your puppet?”

His skin crawled under Krennic’s attentive gaze. He was looking at him, into him, they had been stripping another of all masks for too long now to have anything left they could hide behind.

He wondered, these days he had taken to wondering about a lot of things. He told himself the thrills of horror were not laced with curiosity, that he had never once wondered, what if they had not met with chains between them.

He had never once wondered about them meeting not as enemies. Even in Cassian’s imagination, he couldn’t fathom a world in which they didn’t stand for opposing forces.

It made his skin crawl.

He felt the moment Krennic too remembered who and what they were, and what part Cassian had played in seeing him locked up and paraded like a rancor in a Hutt’s menagerie.

Neither of them liked to mention that it had been Cassian’s decision to spare his life and drag him off burning Scarif to suffer a far more humiliating fate.

“I built something that could kill a world,” Krennic spat. “I could have had you if I wanted.”

Cassian jerked away like burned.

Now _this_ was a true taboo. They had never spoken of it. It was forbidden to them, the one rule they both honored no matter how vicious their verbal battles.

And of course he had to do it in such a manner. Of course he had to shove exactly what he was into Cassian’s face – and exactly what he had reduced him to.

Cassian’s shoulders trembled.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Within his own mind, he could still hear Orson Krennic’s voice. At some point over the last twelve days, a little part of him had taken residence there. Something told him it would take far longer than twelve days to get it out again.

It couldn’t go on. If it went on…

 

“Sir?”

He was lucky, had caught General Draven just as he was about to walk into command to begin his shift. So early in the morning his mood hopefully wouldn’t have soured yet.

“Andor. You look terrible.”

Cassian smiled wryly. “I know.” He hadn’t slept much last night. His body wasn’t trembling anymore, but he felt like he still was.

He licked his lips, straightened himself to proper military posture. “Sir, I’m sorry, but…”

“You’re compromised and would like to be reassigned.”

He faltered under the judgment in Draven’s eyes. Opened his mouth to come up with some defense, something to soften the blow Draven had struck, but if he hadn’t Cassian himself would have done it. He just nodded. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Draven stepped closer. “It’s not that you can’t. It’s that you’re afraid.”

“With good reason. I’m not going to wait till I…” He shook his head. He didn’t know what he would do. It wasn’t like he was going to betray the Rebellion over a torrid affair with the enemy, he didn’t even _like_ Krennic and never would. It wasn’t like he had any actual danger to cite for his plea; just that he didn’t like what he saw in the mirror these days. It didn’t make for much of a case.

Cassian lowered his gaze. “There are lines that should not be blurred.”

“Alright.”

Cassian gaped at him.

“The prisoner’s information is too valuable to have his interrogation wasted on your personal afflictions.”

This time, he did open his mouth to protest.

“Fix this, Andor. You’re back on Operations field duty until you have yourself sorted out. Come to my office later, there’s a turncoat on Lothal that needs taking care of.”

He pressed his lips firmly together, head ducked.

An assassination. He hadn’t been sent on one since he returned from Scarif. There had been talk of putting K-2SO and him with Jyn, talk of missions where he could save more lives than he ended. That wouldn’t happen now.

“Thank you, sir,” he choked out.

He had no doubt Krennic would be pleased if he knew that even avoiding him furthered Cassian’s misery.

 

When Cassian returned from Lothal, Orson Krennic was gone.

He didn’t inquire after his fate, but he heard rumors that he had asked to see Cassian one more time.


End file.
